


Target Practice

by Morgan_de_Andromeda



Category: Andromeda Six (Visual Novel)
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:54:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27568594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morgan_de_Andromeda/pseuds/Morgan_de_Andromeda
Summary: Morgan starts learning knife throwing, and Damon tries to provide motivation. It's less sexy than it sounds because knife throwing is hard.
Relationships: Damon Reznor/Original Nonbinary Character(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 4





	Target Practice

Morgan turned a knife over in their hands. They held it delicately, the weight of it feeling strange and significant.

“It’s a knife, not a leech,” Damon teased. “This one’s intended to be thrown point-first, so you’ll be holding it from the handle.”

He took another knife and in a flash it was embedded in the target.

“I see,” they deadpanned. Morgan was always impressed, and maybe a little jealous, of how effortless he made things look.

He winked at them and demonstrated again more slowly. They then stood where he had and tried to emulate him, with Damon correcting their posture as needed. They gripped the knife’s handle, winding up their arm hesitantly as they were admittedly terrified that they would fling it backwards somehow. They released a fraction too late and the knife hit the metal wall a good few inches too low, not even point-first.

They snorted at their own attempt.

“No problem, try it again standing a little closer to the target,” Damon said, surprisingly encouraging. “You can ease up on your death grip, by the way. I’m standing to the side of you, even if you accidentally let it go you’re not going to hit anything.”

After a few more throws they were no closer than they had been. Morgan chewed a nail in frustration as Damon collected the knives.

“Let me guess, I’m overthinking it?”

“Of course you are,” he said matter-of-factly, “you overthink making toast.”

“Are you _ever_ going to let that go?”

“No.”

Morgan groaned and rubbed their face.

“Look, you need to get used to the idea that you’re going to hit something.” As if to emphasize his point, Damon tossed a knife and with a soft _thunk_ it buried itself in the target. “I’ve seen you pissed, I know you can throw things.”

“Those ‘things’ have never been sharp objects, and--” They hesitated and quietly finished with, “--I’ve never tried to hurt someone.”

“You aren’t trying to hurt anyone now, either.”

“I know, but--”

He interrupted them by lightly flicking their forehead.

“You’re getting ahead of yourself. You need to focus on what you’re doing _right now_ , which is just hitting that circle.”

They couldn’t really argue with that, but: “easier said than done, Damon.”

“Well then, let’s try to reframe things.” A sly smile appeared on his lips. “Every time you hit the target, I’ll take something off.”

Morgan raised an eyebrow and looked him up and down. Theoretically they didn’t have to work at getting him out of his clothes, but it would certainly provide some immediate motivation nonetheless.

“All right,” they agreed, a little doubtfully.

Damon stepped back again and Morgan took a deep breath. They stared at the target. It wasn’t a person, they reminded themself, it was just a circular stack of cardboard. They remembered the days they would spend throwing rocks at a tree, usually to work out their frustration after interacting with their mother or siblings.

_Thunk._

Morgan blinked in surprise to see the knife buried in the target, albeit barely and incredibly off-center. They allowed themself a small self-satisfied smile and looked at Damon expectantly.

With a sultry wink he removed… his dog tags. 

“You’re such a jackass,” they laughed.

“Hey,” he held up his hands innocently, “I’m just making sure you have further incentive.”

“Uh-huh.”

Their aim still needed work, as they were unused to the uneven weight of the knives, but they managed to get Damon to shed his gloves, shoes, and a sock before their arm was tired enough that they decided to call it a day.

Damon looked over the target with a pleased smile before saying, “not bad for a first practice.”

“Thank you,” they mumbled shyly, unused to being praised. “You’re a pretty good teacher.”

“Here.”

Damon handed them a roll bag with the knives they had been practicing with.

“Oh, I don’t want to take your--”

“Do you _really_ think I’m going to be hurting from giving you a few knives?” Damon asked with a smirk. “Take ‘em, it’ll be good to have a set to practice with.”

“In that case, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Damon gave them a fond smile and ruffled their hair. “I’m on meal duty, any requests?”

“I don’t know why you always ask me, you know I’m not picky.”

“I only wish to provide the best service to Their Royal--”

“Ew, stop that!”

Damon dodged their attempt to swat at him and left them with a cackle and a wink. Morgan huffed in exasperation before heading to their room. Keaton was sleeping on their bed and greeted them with a meow and an enormous stretch before closing his eyes again. Morgan sat next to him and unrolled the bag of knives on their lap.

This was one of those moments that made them realize how strange their life had gotten. Knife throwing had definitely not been part of their curriculum growing up. Even the idea of joining the Guard like some of their siblings had been seen as ridiculous.

Eventually they sighed and put away their knives. Not much point in stewing on it, they supposed. Better to focus on setting a goal. Morgan thought for a moment, then smiled a little to themself.

_Next time I’ll get him out of that jacket._


End file.
